


Just the Way You Are

by Jadynof9



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Beta is optional at this point, Crew as Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Existential Crisis, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, Grief and Loss, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Papa Rios, Qowat Milat, Self-Acceptance, Trauma, body image issues, discussion of suicide, past abusive relationships, rain makes me feel things, spur of the moment, talks in the rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadynof9/pseuds/Jadynof9
Summary: Just a place to collect snapshots of our favorite motley crew showing each other acceptance.
Relationships: Agnes Jurati & Elnor, Agnes Jurati & Jean-Luc Picard, Elnor & Seven of Nine, Jean-Luc Picard & Cristóbal Rios, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine, Soji Asha & Cristóbal Rios
Comments: 35
Kudos: 50





	1. Raffi and Seven

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to [this beautiful cover](https://youtu.be/rIBRcQdzWQs) and suddenly pictured all these lovely little conversations being had between random members of the crew. My goal is to try and pair them up in ways that I would not instinctively match...but of course I couldn't go without one with my fave girls, so here we are. =)
> 
> Total impulse write, no beta, it just started raining outside, and this is what happened. Not my cleanest write, but when the words and images flow...who am I to stop them?

“Do you ever wish you could go back and change it?”

Seven raised an eyebrow gently, eyes remaining closed. It was somewhat hard to focus, what with Raffi gently rifling warm fingers through her hair, her head pillowed on Raffi’s lap. The gently insistent breeze carried the barest mist over them. Rain pattered gently on the wooden roof of the little park gazebo they had found themselves in. The subtle scent of the dampened foliage reminiscent of darker nights on other planets, caught waiting out storms and downpours while nursing stinging phaser wounds after some skirmish or another. But these shadows lurked on the edges of consciousness, lingering, almost imperceptible in the midst of the cocoon of safety she found herself in now. The staccato of the rain seemed to massage and sedate the normally constant activity of her brain, allowing her senses to simply be and enjoy. No need for threat assessment, no data analysis; simply existence.

Finally opening her eyes the slightest fraction to look up at Raffi, Seven believed her to be in a similar state: head leaned back on the center support post for the old-fashioned structure, eyes closed, soft, steady breathing. Raffi was in her most relaxed state, a seductive comfort beyond even what the old lure of snakeleaf had offered her. A slight blush arose as Seven remembered the first time Raffi explained that experience to her, _attributed_ it to her, after a particularly passionate night. A new peace that chased away old demons, and one they both had grown very appreciative of that times it made itself known.

“Care to clarify?” Seven drawled sleepily.

“Anything, really,” Raffi offered with a slight shrug. “Sometimes I can’t help but feel…guilty, I guess? Like I shouldn’t have it this good after messing so much up.” She opened her eyes, shifting to gaze down in Seven’s. “Not when people are still hurting from my mistakes.”

Seven considered, scanning the open and questioning face above her. For the straight-forward nature of the question, there were so many different depths to respond to. But again, the peace of their setting, the strength of the bond they had been building, transformed the question into an honest exploration. At least in her mind. Given the continued soft stroking of her hair, making it somewhat difficult to remain conscious and coherent, she was confident Raffi felt the same.

“Yes, I do,” she responded. A slight surprise filled Raffi’s eyes.

“Even if it meant we would never have happened?” Only honest curiosity in the question.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible to appreciate both,” Seven replied levelly. “A desire for one doesn’t negate or diminish a desire for the other.” She reached a hand up, gently stroking Raffi’s cheek with the back of her fingers. She smiled as Raffi leaned into the touch before turning to kiss the back of her hand. “What brought this particular bout of introspection on?”

Raffi sighed, grabbing Seven’s hand with her own before kissing it again. She marveled slightly as Seven rested their hands on her chest, the faintest flutter of heartbeat palpable on the back of Raffi’s hand.

“Just sitting here. Enjoying you. Wondering what I did to deserve you.” Her own heart fluttered at the warmth and affection in Seven’s eyes in response. “I’m a hot mess, Seven, you know this about me,” she offered with a smirk. Seven laughed softly in response.

“I’m not a particularly appealing prize myself.” Raffi’s brow raised as she took a moment to look the Ranger’s lazing form up and down appreciatively. Arriving back at Seven’s eyes, she didn’t miss the smug playfulness in the eyeroll that greeted her. “If you want to go that route, this will quickly become a different conversation,” she chastised playfully. Raffi smiled, not in the least bit abashed.

“I wouldn’t be opposed, but I suppose that can wait for now.” She continued playing with Seven’s hair, pausing to gently scratch at her scalp. Blue eyes fluttered closed in response, bringing a memory with it, and putting Raffi back on track. “It’s just…you know how I can get. And you know what it’s cost me in the past.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if I should be trying harder to change those things about myself.”

She felt a quick double-thump under the back of her hand before Seven picked it up and pulled it to her lips. Afterward their hands rested higher up on Seven’s chest, and Raffi wondered if she was hiding her reaction.

“Don’t.”

Her own heart skipped a beat. There was an unexpected intensity of emotion in that single word. Intensity that was reflected in the bright, vulnerable eyes that locked with hers. Raffi found she couldn’t speak. So she shook her head slightly, tilting it in question.

“Raffi, who you are isn’t defined by what you do. Who you are finds its _expression_ in what you do.” Seven now clasped Raffi’s hand in both of hers, looking almost to be pleading. “You love fiercely. You fight for those who can’t for themselves. You see the world in ways that others either take for granted or can’t possibly conceive. You will pour yourself entirely into what you set your mind to, including those you care for.” Seven smirked now, though the intensity in her eyes remained. “You are also infuriatingly stubborn, hotheaded, and at times as single-minded as Elnor watching a cat video.” Raffi coughed out a laugh, only then realizing she had been holding her breath.

“My point is you may need to re-evaluate how you utilize your gifts and talents at times. But to wish them away or try to change them would be to change Raffi herself. And I…” Raffi saw a slight blush creep up in Seven’s cheek. “I love you, the way you are.” Seven took the opportunity to close her eyes again at another gentle scratch on her scalp, also grateful that Raffi had offered her the out. Raffi, for her part, sat in quiet contemplation of the truth she had been offered. Squeezing the hand that held hers, she rested her head back against the post, allowing the rhythm of the rain to draw her back into that warm, deep peace.

“When did you get to be so wise in matters of the heart?” she asked teasingly. Unseen, Seven smiled smugly.

“I knew you would say something similar had I posed the question to you.” Her smile grew as the hand stroking her hair paused. There was a single chuckle as the motion resumed.

“Well. You’re not wrong, love.” With a contented sigh, Seven drifted off.


	2. Soji and Rios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rios stumbles upon Soji having an identity crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when this particular idea popped in my head, but the two books that popped into mind as the conversation was playing out in my mind are Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl and The Courage to Be by Paul Tillich. Very loosely, mind you, as it has been some time since I have read either. :)

It had been a long day, he realized upon reflection. The crew, who for no reason other than it is the nature of living things, had been all out of sorts. Picard had had a challenging subspace call with some bigwig or another, leaving him short-tempered and ruminating in his holo-study. Elnor, in all his innocence, had attempted to approach Picard in an effort to cheer him up (Rios tried to warn him off, he really did, offering his expertise in the nature of brooding captains). His feelings hurt after Picard’s uncharacteristic rebuff, Elnor wandered off with his disappointment broadcast on all frequencies per usual. Raffi’s maternal instincts of course drew her right to him, leading to a confrontation with the still isolating Admiral. They eventually both stormed out of the study, still using particularly agitated tones and blindly bowling into Agnes who, attempting to bring a drink to Elnor for comfort, flailed and sent the mug and its contents flying over the railing into the mess below. This resulted in a disgruntled Ranger, now covered in hot chocolate and nursing a slowly emerging knot where the mug impacted her skull. The comedy of errors had continued throughout the rest of the day and while Rios had done his best to stay well-removed, he could not completely divorce himself from the effects of a ship-full of sour moods and frayed tempers.

The most recent Coppelius run had in and of itself been uneventful: dignitaries and representatives ferried back and forth, supplies and exchange of goods, the standard tedium that the Federation could very well have handled with their own ships but were more than happy to allow a third party to manage. Rios, for his part, played it off to them as a business deal: he would play transport, so long as they played payer. It allowed him a small sense of power in the face of the organization that would, he admitted, be forever a part him, but that had betrayed him so deeply that he could never associate “trust” with anything as monolithic as “Starfleet.” Which led to his truer reason for committing his ship to these particular missions. For better or worse, he had developed a loyalty to the inhabitants of Coppelius, one he tried not to question too deeply. When he did, faces of the past had a habit of creeping into his peripheral vision. Better to admit a grudging affection for the members of his ragtag crew that were connected there.

Which led him to his current state, retreating to the lookout behind the station that had become his place of reflection and relaxation. Following his first conversation back there with Seven, it had somehow become a refuge that, by unspoken agreement (and perhaps some support from a certain Ranger who also values her private space), was rarely infringed upon by his shipmates. A reality for which he was particularly grateful, especially at the end of a day like today.

Which was why he was standing in mixed confusion and irritation to find Soji perched upon his usual ledge.

Rios continued to have severely conflicting feelings around the synth girl. It was still impossibly difficult to separate her from Jana in the way that only those with posttraumatic dysphoria could truly understand. He _knew_ she was a different person (was she a person at all though?), _knew_ she had nothing to do with the nightmares that followed (but she came awfully close to causing some, didn’t she?). He shook his head, as though it would silence the conflicting messages bouncing around in response to the sight of her. When that failed, he took a swig from his flask before breathing a deep sigh, debating his next course of action.

_Dios mio, she already knows I’m here anyway,_ he thought bitterly, remembering her enhanced senses. With another sigh, he approached. She gave no indication of acknowledging his presence as he set himself down a fair distance away. Perfectly content to remain in silence, as he had sought this location for just that purpose, Rios simply took another drink before gazing out across the water.

Within minutes, he was squirming internally. Being this close to a living (was she though?) reminder apparently overrode even his very well-developed defenses. He wanted to reach out to her, to laugh over ice cream and french fries. He wanted to keep watch over her, protect her from whatever machinations of fear and secrecy seemed to lurk in every corner of the universe. He wanted her on the other side of the galaxy, so that he never had to see her lifeless body sprawled out before him, or any bodies thereafter. He gripped the flask in both hands, refusing to be done in by his demons while also being helpless to defy them.

“If I’m bothering you, I can go. I know this is your spot.” His head raised at her unexpected offer as much as at the strained tone in her voice. Finally looking at her profile, he could see her eye seemed a bit bloodshot (but does she even have blood?), tear-tracks marking her cheek (how does it even replenish the fluids?). The pull of compassion overrode his cynicism, though the echoes were never fully silenced.

“No no, you were here first,” he responded casually, gesturing toward their surroundings with a half-wave of his arm. “From the looks of it, you might have more bothering you than I do.” Part of his mind yelled not to get involved, to keep those damned walls up with this one. The other part reminded him that for all intents and purposes, she was just a kid; was there really anything to be afraid of from a kid? Soji let out a self-deprecating laugh.

“You know, most days aren’t so bad,” she offered, finally looking over at him with a sardonic expression. “Then I remember that I’m in the middle of one of the galaxy’s most complex identity crises, and suddenly life gets a little more complicated.”

Rios couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Well if you need someone to soundboard existential pain and crisis, I suppose you could do worse than me walking up.” Soji’s grin widened slightly, somehow managing to express both irritation and appreciation. A hint of sadness flashed across her eyes.

“Sure, let’s have the person most readily able to keep up with my philosophical nightmare over the purpose of my existence be the same person who is most troubled by it.” Rios flinched, a sour expression taking up residence on his face at being called out. Hard. He paused to take a breath, feeding into the side of him that had been genuinely invested in developing a friendship with Jana rather than the bitter XO that barely survived the aftermath.

“Look _chiquita_ , I won’t deny it’s a little rough quite literally living with a ghost from my past,” he said in as calm and level a tone as he could manage. “But like it or not, I am actually concerned about you. Yes, I have my doubts, I have my demons, and I have a lot of years of honed instincts…but I do want to do my best not to let my past mess up the present with you.” He had barely finished the sentence before she had turned fully toward him, pulling one leg up on the ledge to be able to sit facing him square. Seeing her full on, the puffy red eyes and somewhat blotchy cheeks showed him just how long she had been crying, wrestling with her own demons.

“That’s just it, you _have_ a past. A real one. Not some story that someone fabricated to make a convincing spy.” Rios swore he could actually see the fire growing inside of her, licks of flame edging on hysterical surrender as she had exhausted the limits of her brain power (processing capacity?) on this debate. “What do I have, Rios? I don’t know who, or what, or…” her eyes darted back and forth before closing, shaking her head in frustration. “…whatever I am!” Charged up, she stood, beginning to pace the length of the wall Rios remained seated on.

“What do I do when I can’t trust anything I remember? How am I supposed to move forward and build a life based on, on lies and implanted information? Knowing that at any time I could be hacked, reprogrammed, used against the people I love? HA! Do I even actually _love_? My emotions are…are all bits of code and pre-programmed synaptic sequences, but do they really count as feelings? I experience all these urges and desires and thoughts, and I can’t not question if they’re even me! Or are they some…some crazy, mad scientist’s way of living vicariously through his own creation?

“And you know what the worst part is?” she posed angrily, tears breaking free again as she jabbed her finger towards Rios, a passionate lawyer preparing to present a scathing closing argument against herself as the defendant. “The worst part is no one can tell by just looking at me. No one walking down the street would think twice about whether I’m human or a synth. Not like the others here; I pass as normal. Because I had to. To be a _good little spy_. No gold skin or yellow eyes here. And the synths…they see me differently because I’ve spent so much time with the organics. I’m just as much a curiosity to them as they are to you. And it’s like I’m one big walking _lie._ I can’t fit anywhere, Rios. Everyone else may never see the difference just looking at me, but I can’t ever NOT see it.”

Soji plopped unceremoniously back on her perch, spent but still simmering. Rios took another swig from his flask. Her verbal explosion silenced the debating voices in his mind, quieted the instinctive questioning of what she represented. Having essentially voiced any and all of the arguments he had had with himself regarding her person over the past few months, she inadvertently left him with the ability to just be and observe. There was a quiet, but powerful little voice in the back of his head: that trusting, bright-eyed, intuition that he was certain had been murdered alongside Jana and Beautiful Flower, that had given itself up along with Pops.

With a sigh, he stood up and approached her, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Soji sniffled, wiping at her nose and eyes with the back of her hand and mumbling something about androids and mucus. Rios allowed her to settle a bit more before finally speaking.

“I’m gonna give it to you straight, because I’m guessing right now, you’d be about as receptive to flowery platitudes and optimistic prattle as I would be to a long conversation with that fucking hospitality holo.” Soji couldn’t help a smirk in response. “You’re right. I’ve thought every one of those things about you since you tried to hijack my ship.” Rios didn’t miss the full body shudder as she tensed, defenses armed and ready. It was a risky take, he knew…but he also knew she was well aware that he didn’t do the gentle touch.

“But the thing with my cynicism and broody existentialism as Raffi so affectionately calls it is that it thrives on the argument and on defense. So, hearing you take yourself down way harder than I ever dreamed of doing? Well, kinda shuts that part of me down. And the part that’s left?” He turned his head toward her, nudging her with his shoulder. When she begrudgingly turned his way, met his gaze, he continued. “That part of me sees Soji. Just Soji. No strings attached, positronic or prophetic or otherwise.” There was the slightest sparkle is her eyes before that guardedness flew right back in place.

“But who is…what is…what does that mean?” she asked, a mix of skepticism and pleading in her tone. Rios shrugged.

“Whatever you want it to, I think. The very nature of man is a never-ending search for self. You get to say what that looks like in the end.” Soji lowered her gaze, becoming pensive. Watching closely, Rios only speak when her eyes began to cloud, refocusing her before she stumbled into another downward spiral of self-doubt. “The past is information, not definition. You’re in charge now. Just like the rest of us.”

“What if I’m wrong?” she questioned tentatively. “Or what if I can’t get myself to believe it? What if I forever question if it’s programming or…or _me_?”

“Well, then you come to rest of us, because you know we can’t be programmed. We can give you the information and perspective free of the bias you can’t help but carry. And if you’re _really_ doubting whether we’re being honest, go to Elnor, though that’s asking for trouble with all that damn Absolute Candor if you ask me.” Soji laughed, genuinely. It warmed his heart. Suddenly he could see reflections of a young, unsure but brash anyway, idealistic young Starfleet officer he once knew in her. An overwhelming urge to protect her came with it, along with a tiny bit of peace and understanding. It was the slightest possible insight into his old captain, but it was enough. _I’ll give her better_ , he decided with finality, offering her a soft, warm smile.

Soji wiped a tear of laughter from her eyes before looking over at him, surprised at what she found. So often he was guarded, even slightly cold with her. She knew he couldn’t help but see Jana, knew that there were nightmarish associations he had with that. While it still hurt, she couldn’t blame him. But the look in his eyes now was a completely different person, and she couldn’t help but associate it with the happier memories – implanted as they were – of her parents.

“Thanks, Cris,” she offered with a smile of her own. “I needed that.” He chuckled before wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a quick squeeze.

“Anytime _mija_ ,” he said affectionately. “Like it or not, I think you fully belong in our little family band of misfits.” He clapped her shoulder one last time before draining the last of his flask and standing to leave. He gave her a questioning look before departing.

“I’m gonna stay a bit longer. On top of having a lot to think about, I’m going to play it safe and give everybody a liiiitle more time to cool down from today,” she said with a smirk. Rios gave a hearty laugh before walking off.

“Keep being you, Soji,” he called over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have it any other way!”

Soji gazed back over the water. It was the tiniest drop of peace in her heart. And it was everything she needed to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Rios vibes. It's a thing now, I've decided.
> 
> Comments appreciated!


	3. Agnes and Elnor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elnor just wants to understand Agnes better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this became SO much longer and SO much darker than I had originally planned! Agnes Jurati is not a character I feel strongly about, probably in part because I don’t feel I understand her much. This chapter was supposed to be a light-hearted attempted to begin that understanding.
> 
> But then I realized maybe the hard part of getting Agnes is that there isn’t much light-hearted about her, really.
> 
> Content alerts: brief depiction of traumatic flashback with implication of self-harm, references to gaslighting and psychological abuse in relationships, dealing with guilt and internalized shame.
> 
> Added A/N: Survivors are beautiful, inspiring individuals, who frequently cannot see this about themselves. If you are a survivor, whatever stage you are in your journey, please remember that you have intrinsic value and worth, regardless of what you have been through. And if you find that hard to believe at this stage, find someone who you know believes it and will believe it for you. Then believe in their belief until you are able to believe it yourself. <3
> 
> Edit: Chapter title switched around, as it originally did not follow the pattern of the other chapters. Oops.

Repetition brought comfort. Smooth, firm strokes, scraping of whetstone against edge, meditative rhythm. It gave freedom for thoughts to dance and order themselves. If give focus and order to questions. Hone the edge, wipe the blade. Inspect, refine, repeat.

After a few months of life on _La Sirena_ , he had grown and adapted. Many times, he still questioned why his friends would speak so cryptically, words so at odds with actions. Others they seemed to be so open and honest with themselves and each other, he would swear he could easily call them his brothers and sisters in the Way of Absolute Candor. But they were inconsistent, and confusing as it had been, he came to understand that the Way simply could not be lived so easily without the benefit of years of formation and discipline.

And so he adapted. He was pleased to see that they never seemed to ask him to compromise his Way. It took some time to understand their sometimes harsh rebukes when he spoke his mind and heart, but he quickly noticed they never asked him to lie or speak falsehoods; they asked him to temper or hold his speech. With patience and coaching, he had learned the wisdom of at times subduing his expressions, much in the way one must wait in tense pose before striking, only moving at the moment in which the withheld energy would be most efficiently and effectively utilized. After making this connection that his emotions and thoughts could be honed and crafted much in the same way his forms turned his body into an instrument of strength and grace, he found it much easier to interact with his new family in ways that helped them be comfortable around him.

Most of them. He now had a challenge before him. He had grown to understand many of the crew members of _La Sirena_ , crafting meditative images in his mind to hold their stories, their personalities. Picard he often related to the coming dawn. Elnor had spent many years in the darkness of his departure, and even fought to stay in the shadows upon his return; but like the rays of the sun, despite the long absence through the night, he could not fight the warmth and life that Picard offered him. Fragile at times, almost undetectable, as when caught in the cover of a raging storm. But present and waiting behind the clouds nonetheless.

Seven he imagined as a great hunting cat, like those he had learned of when he was deeply invested in what Raffi had referred to as his “cat phase.” It surprised him to discover the wide variety of species that were still considered within the “cat” family, and at first he had a difficult time conceptualizing these larger, more aggressive versions compared to the stories of Data’s companion Spot. But then Raffi began to describe them in just such a way: sleek, powerful hunters, feared by prey and respected by fellow predator alike, yet graceful, playful, fiercely protective, and gentle with their own. Elnor had perked up as their resident huntress descended the stairs to the mess, smiling and looking at Raffi before declaring, “Like Seven!” Raffi’s cheeks flushed rapidly as she coughed slightly into her drink. After that conversation, Elnor had noticed that on occasion Raffi would refer to Seven as “tiger,” so he felt his comparison must have been apt.

Thinking now of Raffi brought a bright, child-like smile to his face as he continued his sharpening. She reminded him of the warm, desert winds of Vashti. They could be powerful, scathing in combination with the fierce heat of the dual suns; but also soft, comforting in the gentle breeze which gave life and freshness in what at times was a stale, toxic atmosphere of ethnic tension and strife. The songs of the winds reflected many moods: gusts of energy, wailing howls of anguish, whispers of tenderness and affection, and steady streams of strength and persistence. Yes, Raffi was very much like the winds of home for him: always present, always felt, so long as you let them in.

Captain Rios very much reminded him of the gruff shopkeeper from the square. He was an intimidating man, not by his size or stature, but by his dower glare and refusal to show warmth or kindness to anyone. But as the square cleared, if Elnor happened by, the shopkeeper would often speak with him and impart tidbits of wisdom, every bit as much a teacher as Zani and the other Sisters. Of course, whenever they would exchange smiles, the shopkeeper seemed to remember himself, shooing Elnor home; but not before slipping a sweet pastry from the day in his pocket. Elnor did not understand Rios’ hesitance to show his warmth and affection, but at least it was a pattern of communication he was familiar with.

Soji in many ways was the easiest for Elnor to understand, as she was very much like him: caught between two realms of existence, never quite fully in one or the other. Synth but human, human but not; Romulan but Qowat Milat, Qowat Milat but not. It had taken time for her to be comfortable with him, which he did not hold against her. He understood the hurt of betrayal and abandonment, how long it could take to open up again. In small turns the gap was bridged, slowly building a friendship around exploring who they were and what it meant to them. In many ways he felt himself again as he was on Vashti, talking, laughing, bonding with one of his Sisters. He was very grateful for Soji’s presence in his life now.

But then there was Agnes. He knew that there was much brokenness, due in part to what the invasive mind-meld had done to her. But there seemed something deeper than that, and he was uncertain how to approach it. Her occasional skittishness and insecurity saddened his heart, because he could see brilliance in the cracks that she strove to hide. Her tentative offerings of ideas and suggestions brought him joy, because the shadows that seemed to constantly linger in her eyes would fade away. He could see tendrils of tenderness and strength in equal parts in the way she interacted with Captain Rios, the depths of her intelligence in her technical conversations with Soji and the holograms, the slowly growing sense of internal value and self-respect that Raffi seemed capable of coaxing out of everyone but herself. He also saw her tentativeness in her interactions with Picard and with Seven. He could only guess she most associated them with her murder of Bruce Maddox.

This. This was the biggest piece of the puzzle he could not understand. This was the challenge before him. He wanted to understand, if she was willing to help him. Looking up, he watched as Agnes quietly claimed her beverage from the replicator, wandering over to the other table in the mess. One of lessons he had learned growing up with the Qowat Milat was that Absolute Candor did not mean Absolute Impulsivity: timing was essential to a productive conversation, just as it was to a killing strike. However, he was uncertain that there was ever an appropriate timing for the conversation he wished to have. With a fortifying breath, he reverently returned his blade to its sheath, wishing momentarily he felt as comfortable going into this conversation as he did going into battle.

Agnes contemplated her coffee, imagining that she could see the caffeine molecules rushing to the areas of her brain that needed them most. It was inane, she knew, but it helped occupy her brain during the vulnerable periods of inactivity. Life was easier to avoid when you were constantly engaged in something. Memories didn’t have room to vie for your attention if you kept the synapses busy in other ways. She hummed in contentment as her mental imagery synced up with the warmth in her throat and the slowly growing feeling of wakefulness.

“Agnes, may I speak with you?” Elnor asked gently. Agnes jumped slightly; she had known he was in the room, but given his ability to be about as loud and noticeable as a dust mote, his sudden presence jostled her brain. Unable to catch a slight groan before it emerged, she shook her head and faked a yawn, hoping the original sound would be interpreted as grogginess rather than her lack of energy to manage another deep dive into some obscure realm of unimportant facts. Elnor had recently become enamored with sloths. How, no one was quite certain. But he was, and so Agnes attempted to prepare her brain for the excursion.

“I make no promises that anything I say will make sense, but speak away,” she invited with a small smile. She didn’t want to be rude, but neither did she want to be too encouraging. Taking in Elnor’s very concentrated expression as he sat across from her with grave ceremony, she chastised herself slightly, her smile growing at his seriousness; he really was a very sweet boy.

“Why did you kill Bruce Maddox?”

She blinked multiple times, smile disappearing as her jaw physically dropped. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to talk about sloths. Cats. Existential dread. Anything other than the images now raging through her mind. Elnor, however, didn’t give her any opportunity to change the subject. His gaze fell to his hands, folded formally upon the table, as he continued.

“I have been trying to understand many things that I have seen and heard since coming on board. It has given me joy to learn that life is so much broader than what I knew growing up on Vashti, even if that includes things that are painful or things that don’t make sense. But as with every journey, there is a reason behind every misstep, a gain to be made from every choice.” Elnor looked up, disarming Agnes with guilelessness that seemed out of place given the subject matter. “Your choice to kill Bruce Maddox is one I have not yet understood.”

Agnes stared. Her breathing began to pick up, heart pounding in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, not certain if she was trying to block Elnor out or avoid the flashes of apocalyptic destruction that seemed to flash all around her, mixed in with the sound of Bruce’s dry, choking gasps as dark lines of death crawled their way across his face. Part of her began to withdraw, running frantically away from the madness. She could see his eyes glazing, she could feel Oh’s hands on her face, she could taste the bile in her throat along with the coppery film in the air of organic dissolution all around her, and it was too much, she had to run, _she had to make it stop_ –

Hands on hers. Her hands at her temples, nails digging in and preparing to rip what they could out of her mind, uncertain how or when they got there. Her breathing still coming in shallow, rapid pants as she looked up to see that Elnor was no longer sitting across from her. It was his hands holding hers; holding, not restraining. Somehow, she could feel the difference. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, eyes that suddenly looked so much older than he usually did. Those old, sad eyes, held hers – holding, not restraining, _why did that matter so much?_ – and on the periphery of her vision she saw his chest moving in a deep, slow rhythm, gentle waves moving toward and away from the shore. Before she realized it, her own breathing had matched, her pulse eventually calming as well. He slowly released her hands. Uncertain what to do with them now, she awkwardly folded them into her lap.

“I’m sorry, Agnes,” he spoke quietly, his voice taking on the tones of his eyes in a way that disheartened her. “I did not mean to trigger the _errhi nnea terrh_. Had I known the shadows ran that deep, I would not have asked my question.” Being reminded of the question that led to her attack, Agnes suddenly felt a hot rage fill her, tears burning her eyes.

“Who the fuck asks that, Elnor?” she seethed through clenched teeth. She wanted to scream, but doing so would attract more attention that she was wanting to deal with at the moment, given that she was already struggling with Elnor-grade focus. “I mean, that has to register as fucked up on some level, even in your absurd honesty cult! You don’t just go around casually asking people to explain their sins to you!” Elnor straightened slightly, a tracker catching a scent.

“Is that how you see it? A sin? Something you must make reparation for?” Agnes jaw dropped further. Her mind could not reconcile his purely curious demeanor with the implications of his question. There was no judgment, no malice, no cynicism, _nothing_ in his tone of voice. Nothing like the vicious echoes in her mind.

“What the hell else would you call it? I took a man’s life, Elnor! A helpless, injured, dying man _we had just rescued!_ He was…” she paused, about to say innocent, before she realized she couldn’t. Her mental war raged again, this time her own voice screaming accusations against him just as much as the ringing refrains of the Admonition. Images of deaths blended with memories of her own discomfort and fear until she couldn’t distinguish one from the other anymore. Had she killed him to prevent the eradication of organic life? Or because he was finally in the position he’d had her in so long ago? Before she’d believed it was all okay? Before she’d convinced herself she loved him?

Why _had_ she killed him?

“He didn’t deserve what I did…” she trailed, uncertain of whether she was making a statement or asking a question. Suddenly, she realized Elnor had taken her hand again. She looked up into those old, tired eyes, that gaze that looked so foreign on the young Romulan’s normally open and radiant face.

“Agnes,” he said slowly, gently. “He hurt you, did he not?”

Agnes’ mind exploded in automated responses refuting such a claim, her inner self fleeing again from a different onslaught of images this time. Her jaw worked weakly, eyes blinking in confusion. Out of the flurry of emotions she was experiencing, she reached out and grabbed tightly to the easiest one to maintain: anger.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked bitterly as she yanked her hand from his, ignoring his question. “Is this some sick joke to you? Picking people apart in the name of truth? Forcing their lives open whether they want you in them or not?” In a quiet corner of her consciousness, a tiny voice was timidly requesting her attention, advocating that of all people, maybe this one wasn’t one she had to be afraid of. It was distraction enough to tone her fervor down slightly. “What the hell does it matter to you, anyway?”

Elnor sat calmly. Despite her erratic energy, he seemed entirely unfazed. Again, without her awareness, she found herself anchored in his stillness. Her anger faded to frustration, guarded and charged but not on the attack. In many ways she didn’t _want_ to be calm. Which made it all the more maddening that she couldn’t seem to be anything but when looking at him as he currently was.

“I ask because you remind me of one who was hurt before,” he spoke solemnly. She saw his eyes glaze briefly, recognized the distant stare of someone lost in memory. “May I share with you this story?”

“Why?” she asked skeptically, so out of her element with this strange version of Elnor before her.

“Because I would like to help you with your burden. I would like for you not to feel alone.” She lowered her head, unable to stand the complete lack of pity, the overwhelming sincerity and compassion in his eyes at that statement.

“Elnor, I’m a murderer. I killed a man. I killed him because…because…” she shook her head fiercely, avoiding the spiral as best she could. “I don’t know why, but I did. I chose to end his life.”

“Am I not a murderer as well?” Agnes’ head flew up again. _How does he talk about this so fucking casually??_ Despite the weight of the question, he remained a clear pond of serenity.

“Well that…that’s different…people die in fights?” she offered, squirming.

“That is not what you said. You said you chose to end Bruce Maddox’s life. That this makes you a murderer. I have chosen to end many lives. Does that not make me a murderer, by your own definition?” She found she couldn’t counter his argument – or perhaps simply didn’t have the mental stamina to do so. An argument she couldn’t understand the purpose of, as he seemed to be bound and determined to label himself a criminal. She huffed out a defeated breath before tossing her hands up.

“Alright Elnor. Tell me your story.” _At least it will give me something else to think about._ Agnes shifted, leaning somewhat on the table. Elnor didn’t shift in the slightest, his eyes becoming slightly unfocused. As the silence lengthened, Agnes felt both her curiosity and her discomfort heighten. After several moments, Elnor took a terminally slow breath.

“This is the story of the harnessing of light, the birth of a warrior, and the never-ending battle against the power that threatens both.”

Agnes blinked several times, gasping slightly. The otherwise dramatic language seemed to gain a power in the gravitas of Elnor’s delivery; if nothing else, it certainly drew her far from the darkness in her mind, if only to invite her into what apparently was the shadow of Elnor’s.

“The training one undergoes to become Qowat Milat is long and excruciating. It requires mental, physical, and spiritual discipline that is forged and shaped over many days and nights, blending into months and years. It is not without joy: just as the labor pains of birth produce the gift of new life, so the growth that comes with formation is always greatly celebrated.

“However, there comes a time in one’s formation that is known as _hllu’uri_ : The Breaking. If a novice leaves the order, it is typically during this time. That is the time in which one is faced with the truth and reality of the power that is offered by the way of Absolute Candor. It is indeed a frightening time of enlightenment.”

“Wait wait wait,” Agnes interrupted. “You mean all of your truth telling and complete disregard of emotional inhibition is somehow dangerous? In more ways than just annoying the hell out of people?” Elnor looked up at her, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips. He noted the haunted specter in her eyes seemed to have retreated, her own honesty and curiosity peeking forth. It strengthened his conviction, traveling down this painful road of memory.

“Absolute Candor is meant to be lived fully, mind _and_ body. The Qowat Milat are renowned warriors because they are fully open in their acceptance and expression of their physical nature. For many, their physical limitations are never actually reached; instead, they come to believe a lie as truth and accept that as limit. In the way of Absolute Candor, there is no such concept as ‘surpassing limits.’ If you can surpass it, it was never a limit to begin with; only in being honest and accepting of yourself and abilities can you truly reach your potential.”

Agnes considered the concept. It was so foreign to her way of thinking, and yet was so familiar in having interacted with Elnor. _But to apply it to physical training? Where is he going with this?_

“The Breaking comes when a novice first experiences the reality of being a _qalankhkai._ The novice sets out with one of the sisters, joining in their mission.” Elnor trailed off, eyes dropping to the ground. Again Agnes noticed how _old_ he suddenly seemed. A great weight seemed to settle upon his shoulders, and the devoted exuberance that normally held it aloft with such ease was absent. She reached a tentative hand to his knee. He slowly made eye contact, face shifting into a sad smile.

“My apologies. Some memories are harder to bear than others.” Agnes half-snorted.

“You’re telling me,” she said with a self-deprecating smirk, one mirrored by Elnor before he took a deep breath to continue.

“As you know, a _qalankhkai_ will only bind her sword to a lost cause. A man came to the order seeking a _qalankhkai_ , wanting desperately to save his sister. He explained that she was in danger of a terrible degree, caught in the grasp of an evil man that he was powerless to defeat alone. He had no brethren left, no family to help in saving her. He was not a weak man, yet you could see that his several attempts to challenge the captor had marked him, body and soul. It was this mission that I was joined to, accompanying one of my Sisters with he who was now our Bonded.

“When we arrived at what we were told was the captor’s stronghold, I was very confused. It was a simple residence, albeit a considerable distance in the wilderness. Our Bonded’s sister was tending to some livestock in a small pen. He ran to her and began to speak emphatically, begging her to leave with him, saying she would be safe because my Sister would protect her as they traveled home. The woman however, seemed distraught. She told her brother to leave. She said she had told him many times before that she would not go anywhere with him. Then the captor emerged from the home. He was not a large nor overly threatening, which made our Bonded cowering before him all the more confusing. The captor approached the woman and spoke quietly…” Elnor paused. Agnes noticed a tension enter his body, a spark lit in his eyes as he stared off into the past.

“I did not hear their conversation, saw only how our Bonded cowered and his sister grew lifeless, reaching for the arm of the strange captor. I looked into the eyes of my Sister, asked her why she held such sorrow there. She explained that we had been somewhat misled; this was not a lost cause because of a lack of strength, but because the woman did not see the danger she was in, and therefore did not want to leave.

“Her words made no sense to me, but I had no opportunity to question her further. At that moment, the captor had shoved our Bonded to the ground. The sister, perhaps instinctively for the bond of their blood, had reached out to him, and was struck viciously by her captor. I was filled with rage and charged forward, drawing my blade, demanding he choose to live. I could not hear my Sister’s words of warning, and she could not stop what happened next. The captor laughed, then draw knife from his waist, making to end our Bonded’s life and declaring that would put this inconvenience to an end.

“He was my first kill.”

Agnes felt that if she tried to take a breath, it would be too loud. It was obvious that a sword-weilding, warrior-nun-but-not assassin would have to have had a first kill. But you just never _thought_ about it. No one _thinks_ about these things. Otherwise you would end up feeling… _well…like this._ Unsure of what to say or do, she simply sat; nothing else felt appropriate.

“I had chosen to end his life because he threatened our Bonded. This is the role and purpose of a _qalankhkai_. But the reality of knowing, of seeing that I had the power to take life and had done so with such ease? I became ill almost immediately, but would not allow myself release; not in front of our Bonded. I was suddenly a terrifying creature in my own eyes. No amount of training could have prepared me for that reality.

“And then there was the realization that I had ended not one, but two lives. I had destroyed something in the woman he had bewitched. She wailed and cried, clinging to his lifeless body and screaming vile curses at me. My Sister merely put a hand to my shoulder, as tears streamed down my face. I had done everything I was trained to do, and somehow it had gone horribly wrong. When she looked up at me…” He raised his gaze, locking eyes with Agnes. “There was a lost soul, a brokenness from having lost that which she thought was the only thing she had in her life. That was the look I saw in your eyes as you questioned whether or not Bruce Maddox deserved death.”

Agnes held her breath. The ending of Elnor’s tale had wormed its way straight to her core, reverberating throughout her being as if someone had struck a small bell in an empty room. A cataclysm of emotions and thoughts seemed to hover around her, ready to descend and wreak havoc again, but for Elnor’s gaze holding – holding, not restraining – her safely in this moment. Agnes felt a single tear break from its confinement at the corner of her eyes, and then the floodgates opened.

Such was the power of being _seen_.

Elnor wrapped strong arms around her, holding – _not restraining, she understood why that difference was important now_ – her close as the sobs ran their course. Years of slowly shrinking herself, of uncertainty, of feeling unworthy, despite her accomplishments and progress…the weight lifted, even if the echoes of doubt still rang in her mind. Even after Bruce had disappeared his legacy of pressure and directing, mingled with just enough reward to keep her coming back for more, shaped and confined her. Being convinced that the end of sentient artificial life was the only way to save the galaxy and being driven somewhat mad by the horrible mind meld opened the door for her to act; whether it was that or her desire for freedom that led to her following through…well, that was a question for another day.

“Why did you tell me this?” she asked quietly, her voice hoarse from her crying, having now been reduced to sniffling hiccups. Elnor gently patted her back, shifting away slowly so he could look her in the eyes as he spoke.

“I asked the question because I wanted to understand you better. I told you the story because I gained that understanding and wanted you to know that you are not alone in your pain.”

Agnes stared hard into Elnor’s eyes, still seeing that weary old soul in his gaze. “How did you get through The Breaking?” He gave a sad smile.

“I almost did not,” he admitted, a soft warmth slowly effusing in his voice. “The Sisters are well prepared to support one through _hllu’uri_. They guided me through the strong emotions that come with the act of taking a life for the first time. They explained that for the Qowat Milat, Absolute Candor is the way one both maintains and contains the _hrrafv llaiir_. This is the source from which one draws power to give life, or to take it. If we hide behind secrecy and deceit, the power of this inner fire can run rampant and seek to destroy. If we suffocate ourselves and do not express any feeling, true or otherwise, the light will die and the blade of the warrior dull.” Elnor looked away slightly, a hint of shame crossing his features. “I may have made a mistake that day. I may have done what was right. I will never truly know.” Looking up again, he held her gaze with that same warmth in his voice, the light starting to return to his eyes. Agnes couldn’t help but find it contagious, feeling a lightness enter her own weary heart.

“The important truth is that it did not change who I was, but gave me the opportunity to choose how I was to live. Accepting this truth is how one moves beyond _hllu’uri_. Agnes, you are strength, brilliance, and compassion, an individual of inestimable value. What was done to you, and what you have done as a result, does not diminish this truth.” Elnor shifted one leg to the other side of the bench so that he could face her fully. Smiling gently, he placed his clasped hands between them, opening them as a book. Agnes chuckled tiredly, reaching to scratch the back of her head.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to make the same commitment to telling the truth all the time,” she offered.

“You are not.” Agnes gave one short laugh at his curt response, shaking her head and smiling before looking at him. “I only wanted to remind you that all I say is honest and true. There is no need for you to return the gesture if you do not feel it is appropriate.”

Agnes breathed deeply at that, feeling again a release of tension that she had never been fully aware she held. To be given the _freedom_ of not having to reciprocate, to be allowed to simply be. It was strange. She decided she liked it.

After a few more moments of reveling, she realized that Elnor had still been looking at her while she had been staring off. Suddenly feeling awkward, her hands started to move about, trying to communicate without the consent of her mouth or brain. Standing somewhat clumsily, she stood by the table until her words got themselves in something vaguely resembling order.

“I should go, um, I have…Picard wanted to…synth things, with Starfleet and all.” Internally she smacked herself on the forehead. Blessedly, Elnor appeared nonplussed as he nodded simply, moving toward the other table to gather his things.

“I, too, have duties to attend to. But Agnes,” he said, stopping to stand and face her fully again. “I thank you for the honor of sharing your story with me. I know discussing such things is terribly difficult.” Agnes laughed again.

“Elnor, I think you told more of my story than I did.” He blushed a faint green in response, and Agnes smiled at the full return of the innocent, open Elnor she had grown accustomed to. “But in all honesty…I’m glad you did. I…think it helped. A lot,” she admitted quietly. She began to head up the stairs, but paused. Turning back after a moment, facing Elnor squarely, she waited until their eyes met. She quickly brought her hands up, clasped together in front of her chest, opening them as a book before her. Then she ran up the stairs. The brightness and sheer joy in Elnor’s face in response might’ve made her explode otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not like Agnes much throughout the series. But now? I think the poor girl is exactly where she needs to be. <3
> 
> Romulan terms haphazardly constructed from [ENGLISH - RIHANNSU DICTIONARY](http://mrklingo.freeshell.org/romulan/engtorihan.html) with a tiny smidge of grammar help from the [Imperial Romulan Language Institute](http://www.rihannsu.org/arch/www.rihan.org/drupal.html).
> 
>  _errhi nnea terrh –_ literally ‘attack of darkness’
> 
>  _hllu’uri_ – ‘breaking’
> 
> _hllue_ – to break
> 
> _-uri_ – conjugation for present continuative active voice
> 
>  _hrrafv llaiir_ – ‘inner fire’
> 
> _hrrafv_ – inside
> 
> _llaiir_ – flame, fire
> 
> As always, comments greatly appreciated! =)


	4. Seven and Raffi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven shares a unique and private memory with Raffi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I didn’t make it to writing PURE fluff…but this at least is more playful and fluffier than what I’ve been writing recently!
> 
> I also could not resist a return to my favorite pair! Roles are reversed in this chapter.
> 
> Content warning: discussion of body-image struggles and the self-worth issues that come with it.

“All right, spill.”

Seven looked up innocently from her kal-toh game, face calm and serene. Raffi on the other hand stood across from her, clearly agitated and in full interrogation mode.

“That would be a waste of good bourbon,” Seven teased, raising the glass of said bourbon to her lips before sipping with a smile. Optical implant picking up the brief increase in Raffi’s heart rate in response, Seven upped the ante with a subtle licking of her upper lip.

Slightly aroused, but undeterred, Raffi planted both palms on the mess table, leaning forward while projecting the full force of her top-of-the-class intelligence training aura. Which, she knew, ultimately had little effect in terms of intimidation with a figure as daunting and inimitable as Seven of Nine, ex-Borg Fenris Ranger from the Delta Quadrant. However, if she _didn’t_ go all out, she would likely fall prey to the clever Ranger’s seductive prowess, clearly aiming to distract her from her goal. And Rafaella Musiker refused to be distracted. _Yet_.

“You,” she said, drawing out the syllable as she gestured with a tilt of her head, “are up to something. I want to know what.”

Eyebrows lifted slightly, clear blue eyes blinked twice, hand moved from bourbon glass to opposite elbow. Raffi had to resist the urge to roll her eyes: _sure, give me the xB equivalent of feigned innocent, southern belle hand draped over the heart, batting your eyes, why don’t you?_ Not breaking eye contact, Raffi shifted around the table to straddle the bench Seven was on, sitting far closer than she intended and much farther away than she wanted.

“Uh-uh, your feminine wiles won’t work on me.”

_Challenge accepted,_ Seven thought as she lowered her chin slightly, looking up at Raffi through hooded eyes, allowing her own desire – stirred up by Raffi’s assertiveness and now very close proximity – to beckon through darkening blue irises. Reveling in Raffi’s audible gulp, she pouted the tiniest bit, biting back a smile at what she was certain was an _almost_ inaudible groan in reaction. Dropping her right shoulder ever so slightly, she casually placed her palm on the bench, splayed fingers not quite making contact with Raffi’s thighs, leaning toward her a bare inch.

“No? That is…unfortunate.”

_Goddammitstopbeingsofuckinghot!_ Raffi screamed internally, barely holding back the urge to give in and engage in the exquisite sensual gameplay. While not a terrible way to lose a challenge, she was stubborn and determined. She would not be outwitted, no matter how alluring the consolation prize. With a deep breath, she valiantly ignored the enticing tingling building in her lower abdomen and forged onward.

“You have been tinkering around in the holosuite, for _hours_ at a time, for nearly a week. True or false.”

Seven offered a Cheshire grin in response. By the second day she had been working on her surprise, she knew Raffi would be unable to resist the urge to try and figure out what she was doing. Especially since she hadn’t spoken a word to anyone, short of Picard in order to utilize the space for her purposes. Given the fact she had convinced the stately admiral to allow her so much time in there, by herself, with no explanation, that he had essentially claimed half of the small mess hall as a sort of secondary state room, _everyone_ wanted to know what she was doing. And she knew Raffi was the only one daring enough to try to find out.

Leaning back slightly, deciding to award Raffi with a little reprieve for her perseverance, she gave a simple nod. Raffi felt the torment of victory as she began getting information at the cost of lessening the delicious tension that had been building.

“True or false. You’re recreating a space, some sort of location. Something simple. No interactive algorithms, character or wildlife protocols…just structural guidelines, dimensional specifications.” Raffi had enjoyed collecting the barely noticeable breadcrumbs in Seven’s digital work. She had no doubt they were intentional; Seven of Nine was not a careless individual.

“As expected of the OPS officer favored by the great Admiral Picard,” Seven purred, barely tracing her fingers past Raffi’s knee before her hand was captured firmly. She was enjoying their game, particularly as it allowed her to ignore the niggling nervousness that was underlying this whole endeavor. Focusing on the growing intent in Raffi’s eyes, Seven knew if she pushed just a _hair_ more, her otherwise obstinate lover would be putty in her hand.

But that was before Raffi was bringing the captured hand to her lips, placing firm, lingering kisses along Seven’s knuckles, holding her gaze the entire time. Heart skipping a beat, Seven was playing with fire now. And loving every second of it.

Raffi had needed to seize control, otherwise she was afraid she would take Seven right there in the mess hall if that hand had drifted any higher. Seven’s pupils dilated just enough for Raffi to notice, gaze becoming slightly unfocused as she turned the blonde’s hand over, kissing her way across the palm toward the now upturned wrist.

“For something so simple,” she spoke softly between kisses, “what could possibly,” nip at the pulse point, feel her own gut clench at the sharp intake of breath, “take that much time,” a whisper of breath across the slightly dampened spot, “for you to put together?”

Seven was having to put a considerable amount of focus into maintaining steady breathing. There was always a certain level of thrill watching Raffi’s expertise in action. Having this particular skill with this degree of intensity, focus, and confidence turned toward her in this manner…she suddenly found herself facing the very same win-win dilemma she’d placed Raffi in moments ago. _Just a little longer,_ she coaxed herself, quickly getting lost as Raffi had continued her affections, now tracing light patterns with the tip of her tongue in between kisses, blowing gently and sending chills up and down Seven’s spine. Seven twisted her wrist around deftly to worm her hand around the back of Raffi’s neck, firmly pulling her closer, until they were nose to nose. Seven’s heart now picked up for a different reason; vulnerability was waiting on the other side of those holosuite doors, and she was one step closer to opening them.

“Perhaps,” she breathed, uncertain whether the heat she felt was the flush of her own face or the proximity of her partner’s, “it’s time I show you?” Seven smirked as the OPS officer’s face split into a hungry grin. Raffi reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Seven’s right ear.

“Baby, if it gets us behind closed doors, then–” she stopped short, all systems freezing at Seven’s barely perceptible flinch as Raffi’s fingers brushed the starbust implant by her ear. _She hasn’t done that since we first got together_ , Raffi thought, now filled with concern. By the time she leaned back enough to see Seven fully, the xB had composed herself, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. Except that Raffi _knew_ Seven by now, enough to know that something was off. Seven’s eyes shifted back and forth between Raffi’s own, nostrils flared minutely, non-implant-encircled brow lifted. All innocuous components in and of themselves. All very uncharacteristic of Seven.

“Let’s not waste time, shall we?” the Ranger declared before standing, offering an otherwise confident hand to Raffi. She knew Raffi had caught her reaction, swore internally at her own insecurity. Raffi had been patient, gentle, encouraging, _everything_ Seven had needed to eventually move past the shame and hesitation surrounding her implants. They never caused a problem for her in a working capacity; signs of her Borg heritage tended to work in her favor when some power-hungry crime lord and his over-confident thugs needed convincing. Nor were they an issue in her relatively non-existent personal life with the Rangers, even in the heated one-night stands. No, stress-relief and casual camaraderie weren’t deterred by the scars of her trauma. Intimacy and connection, on the other hand…

That was why her programming had taken so long. Much of the time was spent going back and forth, not on furniture placement or aesthetic intricacies, but on the wisdom of this decision. Teasing Raffi with the secrecy of her plan had been one of the only ways she could distract herself from changing her mind. She trusted Raffi. She did. This was just something that was _that_ important, and the immensity of it created plenty of dark corners for doubt to wriggle and grow.

Raffi slowly took Seven’s hand, not missing that the offered limb was the one that was tritanium-free: another atypical action. Seven didn’t seem to want to address the issue at the moment, and so Raffi, somewhat reluctantly, let it be. Allowing herself to be led toward what would normally be Picard’s study, she felt her curiosity begin to peek through and take the lead. It was rare that she legitimately had no clue what to expect in a given situation. Normally such an instance would cause incredible anxiety, given that the last thing any intelligence operative wanted was to be caught off-guard.

_Just one of the many reasons I realized how hard I’d fallen for this one,_ she thought with a smirk. It had been a very long time since she had been as comfortable around _anyone_ as she was with Seven. Reveling in the realization, she simply appreciated the woman before her as Seven keyed something into the door console before taking a deep breath. She turned to Raffi with a shy smile that Raffi found so endearing she nearly cooed out loud.

“Ready?” Raffi gave Seven’s hand a comforting squeeze.

“If you are.” Seven seemed to consider for a few moments before nodding, more to herself than anything, then turning as the doors opened. Raffi felt her heartbeat pick up, drawing in an anticipatory breath as they stepped forward.

Into quarters. Standard issue, starship crew quarters. Raffi was a bit taken aback, enough so that she did not notice Seven pull away from her. Instead, she began to scan the room. A kitchen space of sorts to her right. A painting of a starry sky on the bulkhead, one that Seven seemed to be adjusting with her right hand, left hidden by her torso. Very simple furnishings gently filled the space: a small table for two, understated couch beneath a window, an occasional decorative piece on a small side table or the ledge. Raffi turned toward the bed in the rear left corner from where she stood, seeing a fairly authentic looking dreamcatcher hanging on the wall beside it.

“Seven,” she called out, softly touching another decorative piece on her way toward the dreamcatcher. “Where are we?” She continued to slowly walk around the room, examining things here and there, getting a growing sense that she was somehow examining Seven. Engrossed in her information gathering, she didn’t notice Seven pulling her hair back into a low ponytail. Seven had thought about doing her hair prior, but hadn’t wanted to give Raffi any hints; or herself more time to second-guess this decision. _This will have to suffice,_ the xB thought determinedly, feeling herself slip back into the fledgling human that had used this very space as her societal training ground.

“I’ve told you about my attempts to increase my social aptitude while on Voyager. One such attempt included a holodeck program in which I interacted with the crew in various settings,” Seven felt her heart pounding. She was paying close attention to Raffi’s position, carefully moving in sync with her, intentionally facing away. Nerves were getting the best of her, but it was too late to back out now. Raffi was now examining the kitchen area. Seven ignored the suggestion a frightened part of her offered that the path to the exit was now clear, continuing her explanation instead. “One aspect of this attempt was…having my own personal quarters.”

Raffi smiled as she reached the painting. “I knew it!” she declared triumphantly. “I knew something about this space just…felt like you.” Seven looked over her shoulder, though Raffi’s back was still turned to her as well.

“How would you determine that? It isn’t like I had much in here to go off of.” A light note of surprise was evident in her voice.

“Mmmm I don’t know how to explain it,” Raffi responded, finally turning around having completed her circuit of the room. “Just something about all of it suits you.” Raffi tilted her head, now seeing Seven’s hair pulled back, but not much else as she remained facing the opposite direction, hands clearly held in front of her rather than behind as she normally would. Brow furrowed, earlier concern building once more, Raffi took a tentative step toward her. “Seven, honey, are you okay?”

“In the program, I added a component that I felt was…important, for me to ever fully reach and embrace my humanity.” _Now or never,_ Seven thought, taking a deep breath. She turned around, anxiously watching Raffi’s face for her reaction.

Raffi couldn’t stop the surprise from crossing her features even if she had wanted to, jaw dropping slightly at the sight before her. It was Seven. A different Seven. A Seven without implants. It was as if Raffi’s brain was questioning the input being transmitted from her eyes, and the result was a comical jumble of awe, dissection, adoration, and complete bafflement. Seven, certain she could hear the internal conference occurring in Raffi’s mind, gave a timid chuckle before lowering her gaze. Lifting her left hand to tuck a stray lock of her behind her ear, she gave Raffi the opportunity to examine it in its metal-free state.

Raffi felt her heart swell at the tender innocence in Seven’s features. Uncertain blue eyes looked up beneath shy lashes, so different an effect from several minutes earlier. Raffi slowly approached, trying to piece together what was happening, the question written plainly on her face.

“At the time, I was…hopeful…that the doctor – Voyager’s EMH, that is – would be able to completely remove my cybernetics. That I could be…made whole,” she said, trailing off. “I wanted to know what life would be like once… _if_ , that happened. I knew that even if the visible evidence of my assimilation were gone, my yet burgeoning social skills would be a dead giveaway,” she chuckled, a self-deprecating smirk resting on her lips. She looked around the room, remembering: Captain Janeway first walking her into the space, decorating with Neelix, her adolescent foray into something resembling romance with Chakotay. “In the end, it was all for naught, really.”

Raffi took a moment to simply watch the emotions play across Seven’s face, feeling her heart break at the wistful longing in her tone. The expressions were oddly different without the highlight of the arching implant: no less emotive, just altered, like photographing the same object in different lighting. She reached slowly for Seven’s hands, examining them. Visually they were the same, nearly so to the touch. She had to pay attention (it helped knowing exactly where metal met flesh, even without visible confirmation), but running her thumb across the back of the xB’s left hand, she could feel the slightest indentations where the holographic overlay worked to blend photonic skin with Seven’s own.

“Seven.” She stopped to clear her throat, not expecting the depth of her own emotion in her voice. “I am beyond honored that you would share this with me. This is…” she gazed around the room, taking in all the details again, through the newly added filter of Seven’s early hopes and dreams. “ _So_ intensely personal.” Raffi lifted her head, scanning the familiar-yet-different face before settling her gaze into Seven’s eyes. “But what brought this up now?”

A faint blush painted Seven’s cheek as she looked down, focusing on their joined hands. She studied them in silence, her heart aching somewhat over how… _natural_ , normal they looked. Certainly she could still feel the lines of her past there, despite how the holoimaging worked to alter the sensation for any external contact. _But just to see it at least, feels somehow…_ She shook her head, not wanting to get lost in her thoughts at such a vital moment.

“My experiment ended when the doctor discovered that my cortical node had a failsafe programmed into it. If I experienced any emotions of an intensity past a certain threshold, it would shut down, effectively deactivating me.” She felt Raffi’s hands squeeze hers, looked up to find sadness in those compassionate hazel eyes. “He said there was a…slight, possibility that it could be modified, but would require several surgeries, significant post-operative recovery, and no guarantee it would work. I told him it would not be necessary…and resigned myself to an existence of some level of social isolation. To forever being…some level of broken.”

“Oh Seven,” Raffi _hurt_ , deep in her chest feeling the weight of crushed dreams. She gently drew Seven into her arms, holding her tightly, trying to will all of her love and support into the embrace. Seven rested her chin on Raffi’s shoulder, basking in the warmth as the residual sadness around this particular memory started to recede. It was hard to feel less than in the arms of someone who makes you feel complete.

“I re-established contact with the doctor through Hugh,” she continued after several moments, wearing the hug like a protective shield. “They worked fairly closely regarding the reclamation project on the Artifact. Over time, we were able to do make some progress in expanding the emotional threshold set in the cortical node. And then…between the doctor’s experience in my recovery, the new knowledge gained through all the work in the project, and the continuing advance in technology…he said that before too long there is a chance that at the very least, the external cybernetics could be removed with limited impact to necessary organic systems.” Only now did Seven pull away, again taking Raffi’s hands in her own. She looked deeply in the eyes across from her. Seeing such openness, curiosity, affection, she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as her conviction settled.

“I wanted to share this with you,” she spoke softly, pulling Raffi’s hand up to her face and leaning into the touch, intentionally placing it along the edge of where her optical implant rested, hidden, “to show you what that might be like. That this is an option, if you would want me to pursue it.”

Raffi shook her head, startled, trying to take in all the implications of Seven’s statement, her _offer_. The insecurity, the vulnerability, the implication of _permanency_ and commitment…it all swirled around in her mind, disorienting and significant. She found a regrettable tether in the hint of doubt slowly creeping up in Seven’s eyes as a result of her lack of response. Mentally slapping herself, she removed the hand that was still in Seven’s grasp to join her other, gingerly cradling the somewhat frightened, suddenly very young face before her.

“Fuck what I want, Seven,” she responded finally, filters clearly not yet recovered from her sudden short-circuit. “What do _you_ want?”

“For you to be happy,” Seven replied swiftly, not missing a beat. Raffi felt out of body for a moment, unprepared for the sincerity and conviction in Seven’s respond. She laughed sweetly, anchoring herself in the sensation of Seven’s hands now resting on her waist.

“If I get to be with you, I am.” Raffi smiled at Seven’s still somewhat self-conscious smirk, a gentle light shining softy in her eyes. “But seriously, Seven, it’s your body. If you want to make any changes, it should be for you…no one else.”

Seven leaned forward, resting her forehead on Raffi’s and closing her eyes in an effort to stop time and just exist in this moment. She was still getting used to the seemingly unconditional acceptance Raffi continuously offered her, the affirmation of her autonomy and individuality. Thinking back to the conversation she had with Picard about reclaiming their humanity, the thought of taking on that task _every damn day_ of her life was far less hopeless with this woman by her side.

“To be honest,” she whispered into the silence, voice thick with emotion, “I’m not certain what I would want to do.” She moaned gently, only realizing how tense she had been as Raffi reached around and began to knead the back of her neck.

“Then we’ll deal with that when it becomes an option,” Raffi offered, pulling back to place a soft kiss on Seven’s forehead as she continued her soothing ministrations on the slowly relaxing neck and shoulders. “And I’ll be here with you…whatever, and _whenever_ , you decide,” she then whispered, purposely reciprocating that subtle promise of commitment. When Seven finally lifted her head, Raffi noticed the trail of an escaped tear, brushing it away with her thumb and marveling in the unique sensation of the not quite there implant as Seven once more leaned into her touch. Distracted by the depth of the openness in those crystal-clear blue eyes, Raffi sighed in wonder. “You are _exquisite_.”

Seven’s smirk returned, less shy, more reminiscent of that Ranger confidence. Raffi tilted her head slightly before calling out, “Computer. Remove holographic enhancements from the person of Seven of Nine.” With a brief shimmer, the implant encircling her eye was once again visible, raised somewhat in question. Smiling, sighing again, Raffi reached up to gently trace the metallic brow. “And no less exquisite like this.”

Seven closed the gap between them, too overwhelmed by emotion to rely on words any longer. Raffi happily engaged in the conversation, wrapping her arms around the Ranger to pull her in closer as the kiss intensified. Remembering their earlier exchange, Raffi felt a fire quickly ignite in the pit of her stomach; gasping slightly at the sensation of warm skin and cooler metal slipping under her top against the bare skin of her back, she was guessing Seven was remembering as well. A last coherent thought clambered through the hazy passion that was filling Raffi’s mind as she felt wet kisses work their way down her neck.

“Exactly how much time did you spend in these quarters of yours?” she asked breathily, ending in a sharp inhale as teeth scraped against a deliciously sensitive spot at the base of her neck.

“While part of the program was designed to allow me the chance to research romantic relationships,” Seven spoke against Raffi’s skin, pulling gently at the collar of her shirt to gain more access, “I ended the experiment before things progressed very far.” She could not help a blush at the thought, mild embarrassment at her brief infatuation with Chakotay. To her dismay, Raffi pulled away just far enough to thwart her next kiss. Looking up, she found a less than mildly amused face examining her critically.

“Who was it?” Raffi asked, sassy, but with a playful gleam in her eyes.

Blush intensifying, but intent on retaining some sense of dignity, Seven did her best to emit a cavalier air before responding. “Voyager’s first officer.” The feigned indifference dissipated as Raffi’s playful eyes turned focused, almost predatory, her smile sultry.

“So, you have a thing for us senior officers?” Raffi drawled, slowly backing Seven toward the bed. Seven felt every part of her respond to Raffi’s projected authority, biting back a groan. Feeling her legs finally come in contact with the bed, she gracefully sat back, biting her lower lip as she looked up at Raffi hungrily in return. Pleased with herself as Raffi failed to bite back _her_ groan.

“I prefer to say I can be very… _motivated,_ under the right commanding officer,” Seven quipped, moments before Raffi diligently set right to work showing her just how motivating she could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did do a quick rewatch of Voyager’s “Human Error” to reorient myself to the specifics of Seven’s quarters. It was actually super interesting watching her interact there, where Seven was _really trying_ to be more human essentially, and compare it to where she eventually evolved to in Picard. Somehow seemed very different from "any other episode on Voyager" Seven compared with Picard Seven.
> 
> But I digress…
> 
> Comments greatly appreciated, as always! <3


	5. Picard and Agnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes is nominated to see if Picard being slightly off lately is due to "synth issues."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that writing Picard is hard. Harder for me than I was expecting. But here we are.

Everything seemed different now. There was the ever present staccato of the clock, ticking away on the mantle. The shifting beams of light as a slight breeze finessed the curtains and dust particles, allowing the small rays of sun to appear as though weaving in dance through the air. The desk creaked ever so slightly as weathered palms pressed against it, leveraging him up out of his chair. The chair also groaned at the change in pressure and mass. As he approached the open window, he saw the land breathe through its natural choreography with ease. The workers walked the vines, inspecting the crop as they always did, readying for the harvest. Inhaling deeply, Picard felt nothing.

None of it was real. Much like himself.

He remembered first coming to this place – the _real_ La Barre – so many years ago after the devastatingly rapid collapse of the evacuation. It had all happened _so fast_. There had been so much promise, and in what seemed to be moments, a mere breath in the passage of time, years of preparation and work had been gutted. He remembered laying in his bed questioning everything about his existence. What was he to do? Where was he to go? _Who am I_? Without Starfleet, without a mission, without the very life’s breath that had been his entire reality to that point…how was he to proceed?

“It was so much simpler, then,” he breathed to no one in particular. After 14 long years of merely existing, the _spark_ was reintroduced, and he was reminded who he was. With fervor, he fought to break free from the self-induced chrysalis of his isolation and despair, to embrace the journey and mission that was offered him. To be transformed, to _live_ again.

And then he _died._

With an approximation of a tired sigh, he moved toward the armchair by the hearth. It welcomed him to rest, seemingly molding itself into a perfect shape. Picard marveled momentarily at the intricacy in the programming, before transitioning back to melancholy and self-deprecation. Holo-technology had always been endlessly fascinating in its scope and possibilities. Limitless it seemed, bound only by one’s imagination and, to an extent, the most current reaches of known science. However, one found that rarely could even a gifted imagination keep up with the fathomless expanse of discovery. It was how humanity grew, how any given species thrived and evolved. Utilizing the holodeck, the rare times he would allow himself to do so that _didn’t_ end up in unexpected and often life-threatening adventures, he was always briefly aware of the magic of it all. It was hard to remember it wasn’t real while in the midst of living it out.

Now it seemed to be all he could be aware of. That, and the fabrication of the vessel in which he resided.

He had been an exemplary Starfleet officer. He understood the power and responsibility one in command had in being a model of integrity, of strength, of the ideals sought after by those united in mission and purpose. Because of this, he continued to carry himself with grace and aplomb in front of the crew, regardless of the fact they were not his per se. Deference to Rios aside, he knew they all still expected that level of decorum from him, if for no reason other than he had expected it of himself. However, he had never had a crew quite as astute is this one. They recognized the subtle changes, each in their own way. They just happened to do him the courtesy of not drawing attention to them, even ever so candid Elnor. He thought back to his conversation with Seven of Nine, the brief moment of intimate understanding they had shared thanks to their uniquely traumatic experience of assimilation.

_“After they brought you back from your time in the Collective, do you honestly feel that you’ve regained your humanity?” Her eyes were searching, desperate and pleading in a way that seemed out of sorts to him in comparison to the vitriol they had carried facing Bjayzl._

_“Yes.”_

_“All of it?” Those same eyes, hoping…but also knowing. There would be no hiding here; this one only dealt in pragmatism and reality._

_“No.” It was a difficult admission, and one he could only make to such as her, who understood more fully than even those closest to him. Even so, he pulled on that deep reserve of optimism, the conviction in the core of his being that change could always occur for the better if given the opportunity. “But we’re both working on it, aren’t we?” He saw the barest hint of tears form in her eyes: the release that comes with hope offered when it feels all is lost._

_“Every damn day of my life.”_

“Mais si je ne suis pas en vie…” he responded to the memory. Coming back from the Borg had, no doubt, forced him to severely confront his own definition and understanding of that which defined him as a human person. The transformation one undergoes from being a component of a whole, with no true uniqueness or identity apart from the singular multitude, to isolating individuality is devastating. While he had no intention of speaking for Seven, he believed she would agree that in being part of the Collective, being a single cell of a massively intricate organism, being forced to come to terms with a reality in which _you_ yourself are that which you previously had only been a part was overwhelming.

What he wondered if she understood or experienced, having been assimilated so young, was the difference it made to _remember_ that that individuality had been taken from you in the first place. To overcome so invasive a violation, where your very consciousness is subdued by the sheer volume of others that then fully invade not only your mind but every fiber of your being, is a terrifying task in and of itself. To do so when you also have the memories of what life had been like, _what you had been like_ before it all happened, and to know, as she had led him to admit, that you had not yet returned to that state of being even after more than 30 years? He had begun to wonder if he would ever truly and fully recover, particularly after returning to a cube – even defunct and decrepit – after so long. Had it not been for Hugh…

And yet now even that particular trial seemed paltry in his eyes.

Can one reclaim humanity when not human?

“Admiral?”

He jolted slightly, turning to find the hesitant cyberneticist standing in the middle of his study. With a tired smile, he brought himself upright and gestured to the couch, inviting her to sit.

“Ah, Dr. Jurati! Forgive an old man his musings. What can I do for you?” Slipping into the old role of charitable host brought some comfort. Allowed him to forget briefly by focusing on the needs of another. _I can hear Beverly nagging me even now,_ he thought fondly. He watched her gingerly sit upon the couch, reminding him every bit of a mouse nervously scouting outside of its hole. Wanting for her to be comfortable, he relaxed back into his seat, hoping for non-threatening in her eyes. When he saw no change in the tension throughout her body, it was apparent that her task rather than her present company was causing her distress.

“Actually, I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you?” she offered tentatively. “You’ve seemed a bit…distracted, since we left Coppelius.” Sheepishly she admitted to herself that she had not really noticed it. But then she didn’t really know much about him, other than having a flare for the dramatic and somehow managing to pull miracles out of his hat with nothing more than a poetic turn of phrase. How was she expected to know what “normal” looked like for a retired admiral whose entire career was a guidebook in expecting the unexpecting and managing to survive every time? No, it wasn’t until Rios had approached her with the concerns apparently voiced by everyone that something was off.

_“And you all expect ME to do something about it? I didn’t even think anything was wrong!”_

_“Don’t you see? That makes it perfect for you to be the one! He shrugs the rest of us off because he already knows we’re clucking over him like little mother hens.” Agnes contorted her face in confusion._

_“So me being oblivious suddenly makes me qualified to try and sweet talk the man who averted an apocalyptic invasion of ubersynths with a few words? Yes, I see now, this makes perfect sense,” she remarked caustically, rolling her eyes. Rios shrugged, waggling his hand back and forth._

_“What if It’s something to do with…you know…all his hardware?” he questioned quietly, as if expecting the topic of conversation to show up and berate him for discussing his unique makeup. “That’s not something any of the rest of up could pick up.” Now Agnes looked aghast._

_“Soji is a synth, why isn’t she having this conversation!?”_

_“She’s practically a toddler. She might be able to grasp it all better than the rest of us, but it’s not second-nature like it is to you.” Rios reached for her hand, giving her a soft, imploring gaze that she knew was reserved specifically for her; and she knew HE knew she couldn’t resist._

And so here she was, trying to figure out if Picard’s “odd behavior” was due to technological complications. Not that she had any way of subtly figuring this out. One barely successful go as an unwitting spy hardly made her a savvy operative.

Picard gave her a politely curious turn of his head. He was honestly a bit surprised that she, of any of the crew, would be the first to approach him directly. If anything, he expected Raffi to come charging in and just shy of interrogate him into submission. Regardless, he readied his pre-arranged response to keep his well-meaning shipmates at bay.

“While I do appreciate the concern, I assure you all is well. There has simply been a significant amount of experience to process and little time to do so. What with Rios picking up jobs here and there, our continuing to assist with negotiations between Coppelius and the Federation, and whatever other tasks we find landing our laps,” he gestured widely with a somewhat theatrical sigh. “Sometimes it’s hard to find time to reflect on it all, hm?”

Agnes nodded sagely, recognizing the non-answer for what it was but not knowing how to respond to it. Her frustration rose again at Rios for putting her in this position. She was a scientist, not a ship’s counselor! Rather than draw out a potentially long and uncomfortable encounter, she instead took a page from Elnor book of Absolute Candor.

“Is something wrong with you?” she blurted out. Seeing his face shift to utter surprise, she shook her head, realizing how insulting her word choice could be taken. “I mean, not that I think there’s something wrong with YOU, like you as a person. Or that there’s something wrong with you…reflecting and all that.” _Ooooh this is not going well,_ she thought, panic beginning to set in. “I mean is anything wrong with your body?” Picard’s eyebrows crawled up even higher, causing a deep blush to set in on her cheeks. “Oh shit, how does Elnor do this every day?” Picard couldn’t entirely keep the mirth from his features as the poor woman continued to gesture frantically, struggling to find her words. Finally, she slapped her hands down on both thighs, taking a deep breath before looking up to make eye contact with him, body wound up in fierce determination.

“Are you having any problems with the golem?”

Picard’s expression drooped quickly, and Agnes felt her stomach follow. In her nervousness, she did the only thing that seemed appropriate: babble.

“The others, they’ve been concerned and weren’t sure how to approach you because…well, you’re _you_ and…again, not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just that you can be…um…intimidating? And then there was a thought that maybe it’s not necessarily YOU that’s off but maybe something more mechanistic, and since that’s well beyond what most of them able to really deal with on even a conversational level much less diagnostic they, um…decided…I thought maybe I’d…” she shrugged her shoulders nearly to her ears. “Help?”

Picard examined her, and the scrutiny caused Agnes to feel the need to curl into a small ball. Digging down deep, she found that small part of herself that had helped her break Picard out of his house arrest, that grew and helped him somehow thwart an epic firefight, and grew further still as she worked tirelessly with Soji to save him from non-existence. She sat up as tall as she could, fully aware she was still squirming uncomfortably, _but dammit, I can have a conversation with this man and not want to crawl into a hole and die._

After several more moments, Picard stood and paced over to the window. He had felt a level of indignant rage rise within him, coupled with shame, powerlessness, and despair. _So very reminiscent of returning from the Borg,_ he thought bitterly. Only this time, he felt he had nothing to anchor him; this was not a return to humanity, this was becoming something _other_.

_What do I do? Where do I go from here? Who…what am I?_

“I want you to know, Dr. Jurati,” he finally spoke, breaking the silence as he observed the artificial tapestry of life weaving its way along outside the window, “that I am grateful for all the work you, Soji, and Altan put into…saving me.” He turned and looked at her, a distant hardness in his eyes. “But you have left me with a bit of a quandary, one it seems the rest of you have been contemplating as well.”

“What um…quandary…is that?” Agnes looked at him questioningly.

“What am I, Dr. Jurati?” he asked pointedly, turning to face her fully. “I experience things through sensory perception, I _think_ , I _remember_ , I _feel_ , but I am no longer a man in the most basic sense of the term. Yet I am not like Data, in that I _was_ human. I differ even from Soji, who believed herself to be human only to learn she had been synthetic all along.” He paused as she let out a soft laugh, looking down briefly.

“She asked me that once,” Agnes remembered sadly. “She asked me if I saw a person when I looked at her.”

“And your response?”

Now Agnes dropped into silence, remembering. Remembering the circumstances of the conversation and her practically religious ecstasy at finally seeing the culmination of her life’s work, her hopes and dreams, standing before her. Also remembering the unexpected dissonance of her intellectual response to the question opposing her instinctive reaction to the very emotive features that were asking it. Looking up at Picard now, she felt that same dissonance return.

“While this situation is…qualitatively different from Soji’s, I think my answer still applies. What I see ultimately has little to do with what you choose to believe.” Picard deflated some what, clearly not satisfied with this response.

“But if belief is shaped by reality, how am I to handle believing I am one thing that I objectively cannot be? My thoughts, my words, my responses, my lived experience…all of these are a product of my humanity. But not being human now…what does that make everything I encounter moving forward? What does that make _me?_ ”

Agnes worked her jaw for a bit, floundering to find words as this _clearly_ was not a hardware issue and therefore was something she was wildly unprepared for. She had hoped that her response would, at worst, signal an end to a conversation she hadn’t wanted to be a part of in the first place. Creating life, that she could tackle; defining and quantifying life in altered states… _Cris owes me SO big for this one…_

“Why does it have to make you any different?” she offered up, albeit lamely. The concept he was presenting made sense; there just didn’t seem to be an appropriate on the spot answer. Fortunately for her, Picard took this as an opportunity to process further and dive deeper rather than be upset or put off.

“Because what is the essence of a human being? Philosophers for centuries dealt with the question of what differentiates _homo sapiens_ from even the most closely related simian cousins. There was _something_ in the intricate union of mind and body, perhaps even the existence of soul as an animating force, that brought us up close to the evolutionary peak of the animal kingdom. Yet now, the three have been rent asunder. My body destroyed, my animating force consisting of technological marvels I cannot begin to comprehend…and my mind…” He had returned to the armchair, plopping down rather unceremoniously with an exhausted sigh, resting a tired head in a tired hand. “If my mind is what is left, that what is left of that which was Jean Luc Picard?”

Silence stole across them, with somehow even the ambient noise of the clock on the mantle and the bustle of life outside the window being muted in the cloud of existential ennui. Agnes felt uncomfortable even breathing quietly. She also decided she felt uncomfortable watching the man who had quite literally saved the galaxy… _mope_. That discomfort won out.

“Look, philosophy isn’t entirely my thing,” she blurted out, clumsily shattering the silence. “But what if this whole…thing you’re dealing with is just a matter of language?”

Picard slowly turned to look at her, head still resting in hand. A sharply raised eyebrow left Agnes feeling she was either being invited to continue or being judged for previously unknown depths of idiocy. Banking on the former, she continued.

“You said it yourself that evolution brought humanity to heights previously unknown. Hell, humans thought they were the supreme expression of life until First Contact. Then the definitions had to change, expand…evolve. Suddenly there were concepts and wonders that humans couldn’t possibly have come up with on their own in any timely fashion.”

Agnes was getting animated now, chasing the train of thought down a myelinated pathway to synaptic excellence as what was previously a shot in the dark suddenly became a crystal-clear reality in her mind. “And then, _and then!_ And then there was _Data._ Suddenly there was an entire question between sentience and life that never existed before Soong’s work. And Bruce,” she choked slightly on his name, but swallowed the feeling: this was too important to be caught up by sentimentality and regret. “You know better than anyone what that conversation led to, with that entire trial. Data was something, _someone_ we didn’t have language and concepts for. And now his children have taken it a step further, brought into existence by the man who initially was trapped in the same mental box that you’re in now.” Scooting forward to the edge of her seat on the couch, she clasped her hands together, staring deeply into the eyes watching her intently now, waiting.

“What if the only reason you are struggling to identify who or what you are, is because you’re using a language that simply isn’t capable of containing your existence?”

Silence settled again. Agnes’ breathing did not. Now that the adrenaline of epiphany was wearing down, she remembered to whom she was speaking, and on some level felt like she had basically called him an existential Neanderthal. Before she could bring herself to try and back-peddle, Picard rose from his seat. With a sharp tug at the bottom of his shirt, he began a slow pace back toward the window, silent. Agnes now felt absolutely ridiculous and completely clueless as to how to proceed. With half of her brain preparing her explanation to Rios for the disaster of a conversation and the other half trying to formulate an apology, she stood from the couch and faced Picard’s suddenly very imposing outline in the window.

“Again, I appreciate your concern, Dr. Jurati,” he spoke before she had a chance. “You’ve given me quite a bit to consider.”

As he did not turn around, Agnes got the sense that she had just been dismissed. She looked a while longer, though, unable to shake the feeling that she heard a hint of a smile in that final statement. Uncertain, but unwilling to confront the situation further, she turned to make her exit. With one last look over her shoulder, the holodeck doors closed behind her.

Picard looked out once more upon the representation of the vineyard that had for so many years been his home, in physical reality if not in spiritual. A breeze blew in through the window, shifting the curtain beside him, caressing his face gently. Inhaling deeply, smiling subtly, Picard felt adventure on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This became far more intellectual, and while I don't know if I did it justice, it was at least a fun little challenge to write. :)
> 
> Edit: Silly me, I forgot to put in the translation of the French (aided by Google translate)...
> 
>  _Mais si je ne suis pas en vie…_  
>  "But if I am not alive..." 
> 
> Comments, as always, are greatly appreciated!


	6. Elnor and Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elnor attempts to work out his frustrations by sparring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to see these two actually spar on screen. It would be amazing, and I desperately hope it happens.
> 
> Daydreams aside, this is a far more typical pairing, but one that was too hard to resist writing. <3

There is a heightened energy in the room, punctuated by mildly labored breathing. Two lone figures circle each other, predatory, stalking. Eyes are focused, a light of primal excitement flashing back and forth. The protective padding beneath them makes barely any sound beneath feather-light footfalls. Patience is the hunter’s game; both are well-versed in this dance.

The younger however holds an almost twitchy tone to his energy, movements normally fluid and clean suddenly accompanied by sharp jerks, broadcasting intent. The older, practiced in the art of locating even the smallest weakness, furrows her brow slightly at the sight. She was well aware that something had been on his mind when he arrived for their sparring session. Speech was always sparing during these times, and she had merely given him a questioning look, eyebrow raised as he made eye contact. He gave no response, simply holding eye contact as he continued to tie his hair back into a low tail. And so, respecting his privacy, she didn’t pursue the matter.

It became clear that whatever it was affected his performance. Their exchange, usually fairly even with her having the slightest advantage for no reason other than her cybernetic enhancements, was markedly unbalanced. He had adapted, she noted proudly, as they progressed, but still…

Even in the midst of her thoughts, she saw his center of gravity lower briefly as he prepared for a charge. Planting herself as he dove forward, she neatly deflected an elbow, sending him spinning with the momentum in a flurry of blows. He was also not controlling his power, she noticed, and while the resulting _thwacks_ from blocking his blows would bruise some, she continued to move with the strikes waiting for just…the right…moment…

An overpowered cross that she dodged rather than blocked. She swept forward with her dominant foot, taking advantage of the lack of balance as he tried to compensate and sent him sprawling onto his stomach. She stepped away rather than reset, having expected him to roll into the fall rather than impact the ground. This was not the first time this had happened during this match.

“Your focus is lacking,” Seven declared, hands moving behind her back as she took a resting stance, clearly declaring the round of sparring over. Elnor slammed the floor with both palms before rising to his feet with impeccable grace given how he had ended up on his stomach in the first place. He turned to face her, physically thrumming with frustration.

“I am angry and I want nothing more than for the feeling to leave!” His breathing was forceful, even as it began to slow from its rapid pace following their match. “I had hoped that our sparring would allow me to expel the anger but it has only made it worse, which is making me even angrier and I don’t know what to do!” Balling his hands in to fists, he pressed them against his temples as if to squeeze the rage from his skull, shaking with the pressure he was exerting. With another growl from deep in his chest flung his fists down before beginning to pace agitatedly around the mat.

Seven’s looked on with surprised and concern, simply watching him pace. There was an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated to see him so clearly distressed, but was equally uncomfortable with trying to find the best way to address it. Not, she realized, because dealing with his emotions was difficult; no, it was her emotions and the maternal instinct he tended to stir up in her that she fervently wanted to avoid. With a deep sigh, she selected a course of action and set out hoping for the best.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial to start by explaining what angered you in the first place?” she offered. He continued to pace furiously, not responding. Seven waited. His speed began to show signs of fading. She continued to wait. Elnor was now walking, though the fierceness of his expression remained unchanged. She waited still.

Then Elnor plopped to the ground with an unceremonious _fwump_ , leaning his back against the bulkhead. Seven slowly approached, taking a seat near him, her arms resting casually on her upraised knees. She was reminded of their conversation on the Artifact and her heart warmed at the memory.

“I’m tired of trying,” he finally said dejectedly. “I’m constantly not understanding someone’s joke or missing some cue or making some mistake or another, and I can’t do it anymore. I know I frustrate Captain Rios. People are tired of answering my questions. And today…”

When he trailed off with the slightest waver in his voice, Seven glanced over at him, heart breaking. He had screwed his eyes tightly shut, lashes collecting the moisture gathering there.

“I was trying to join a conversation with Soji and Agnes. I apparently said the wrong thing. Agnes was confused, but Soji…she looked at me with _pity,_ ” he spit out through clenched teeth. “And all I could remember were those eyes, _everywhere_ on Vashti. From older sisters as I was growing up and it was clear I wasn’t leaving, from younger sisters when they realized I could _never_ become Qowat Milat even though I was more advanced than they were, from Romulans in the street when they realized I wasn’t _normal_ to them. From everyone reminding me that I will _never_ belong.” He was crying now, heels of his palms pressed firmly into his eyes as if trying to stem the flow of tears. After several seconds, he turned his tear-stained face towards Seven, tired and broken. “And now it is the same here, isn’t it, Seven? I will never fully belong in this crew, no matter how hard I try!”

Seven felt her own eyes burn with unshed tears as he buried his face in his hands again, resuming his now unrestrained cries. The depth of her own emotion made it difficult to think, the effect of his pain on her stole all her words. More intensely, the fear that anything she might try would be _not enough_ kept her from acting.

“Maybe,” he spoke again, hoarse as his cries slowed. “Maybe I should go back to Vashti after all.”

A greater fear led Seven to speak. “I don’t think you should.” Elnor turned, innocent questioning written across his face.

“But there I know my place. I will never fit regardless, but at least it is in surroundings I’m familiar with. Why should I hurt here rather than there?” Seven met his vulnerable, imploring brown eyes, letting as much of her own emotion show in hers as she dared.

“Because…I’d miss you,” she admitted in a whisper. She had to look away as a reverent awe crept into his eyes, his jaw dropping slightly. Clearing her throat to help her collect herself, she began fiddling with the edges of the sparring wraps around her hand.

“Did I ever tell you about my time on Voyager?” She heard movement, assumed it was him shaking his head as she was fully aware she hadn’t spoken with him about her past at all. “I was very much like you. After I was taken from the Collective, I was expected to integrate into the crew. It was…not a pleasant experience in the beginning. I was other.” She looked back at him, but only briefly, discomfited still by his rapt attention. “They expected me to be human, yet frequently reminded me I was Borg. They would…encourage me to find and express my individuality, and then chastise me when I did not conform. I could never fully be one of them and equally could never return to the only life I had ever known. So I understand the unpleasantness of your experience.”

“What did you do?” he asked with all the exuberant curiosity of a child. She laughed, in part at the preciousness of his innocence, in part in the memory of her growing into her own.

“Eventually I had to stop caring about their contradictory rules and expectations and simply find what worked most efficiently for me. It helped when…” she paused, uncertain as an all too familiar pang gripped her heart. To her surprise, Elnor’s expectant silence served as a slight balm to the ache. “Helping Icheb and the other children learn their way around the crew and social interactions, to discover how they could best express themselves, served to build my own confidence in who I wanted to be,” she finished, her voice quieter.

“Icheb was the son you lost,” he added softly, mostly to himself as he remembered what he had heard on Freecloud. Seven did not respond, allowing herself a rare moment to simply sit with the memories. In the silent reflection, she found many of those feelings mirrored in her interactions with Elnor, and for the first time let herself accept it.

Clearing her throat again, she wrangled as nonchalant an expression as she could and looked back toward him. “It’s not an easy process, but you will have to begin speaking up for yourself. Be true to who you are and how you feel. The others will simply have to adapt,” she offered a smug smirk. The smirk turned into a full, bemused smile as she realized he was not looking at her, but instead looked as if he were contemplating some deep and profound piece of wisdom that had just been offered to him for the first time.

“I want to be more like you, Seven,” he declared very simply. “You are a very inspiring role model.” He tilted his head, considering a new thought. “You and Raffi both are very much the kind of people I would like to be. You carry such strength and happiness. Seeing you both encourages me to be a better person, and seeing you together is as gazing upon true joy.” Elnor’s eyes widened as he turned to look at her. “Seven! Are you well?”

Seven was certain she would cease to function in that very moment, Borg implants and all, from the sheer intensity of the blush overtaking her face. Completely unprepared for the frankness of Elnor’s genuine praise, she simply sat there unmoving, trying desperately to will the heat away from her cheeks. Realizing it would not fade anytime soon and that the longer she remained silent, the more concerned Elnor would become, she took a deep breath and attempted to proceed with dignity and self-assuredness.

“Raffi would be an excellent support for you in your endeavor. I’m certain that she can help you address any doubts you might have about your belonging with this crew. And…I am happy to support you as well. If you’d like, of course.” Turning to look at him, his beaming smile was all the answer she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned lately how much I love these two in general, much less together?
> 
> Now I just need to figure out who Rios is going to have an identity crisis with…
> 
> As always, comments greatly appreciated! <3


	7. Rios and Picard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rios struggles with the implications of having a crew again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Rios’ chapter! I had many a thought about who would help to quell his identity anguish, and I feel like if I really wanted to, I could write multiple versions of this. However, this was the idea that had the most staying power, and so here we are.
> 
> cw: thoughts of self-harm, discussion of suicide – particularly being left behind and wanting to follow
> 
> Again, this turned out a bit darker and heavier than I first intended; so much so that I considered scrapping it. But I think it’s important to have these kinds of conversations so that the taboo and stigma can ultimately be eliminated. It’s a lot easier to ask for help if you know people are not terrified to talk about it.
> 
> Another reason I considered scrapping it (or at the very least holding on to it for a while) is that we are in the midst of the holiday season, and on some level it seemed morbid to post this when we’re supposed to be filled with joy. But if nothing else, this time of year can be the hardest for people who are struggling, especially in the midst of a pandemic when there is so much isolation. If it can help to show that it _is_ possible to get through the dark valleys, then I think it’s worth sharing; not because it’s rainbows and sunshine on the other side, but because you’re a whole lot damn stronger than those kinds of shadows can leave you to believe.
> 
> Please be sure to leave this for another day if you’re not ready to hear/read such talk at this time, or if it might hamper any holiday spirit you currently have.

“As long as this despair is an act of life it is positive in its negativity.” – _The Courage to Be_

The book lay resting in his lap, the only indication that it was not completely forgotten being the steady grip maintained to mark his place. Absentmindedly his thumb would shift back and forth across the page, just near the edge, flirting with the possibility of a papercut. With a fleeting thought, he considered how even in this small way part of him continually looked for punishment, sought out pain as a reminder of meaninglessness and futility. In almost the same instant, the thought had passed, catching a ride on one of the stars streaking by at low warp as he stared unfocused out the front of the ship. With a deep breath, he shifted in his seat, attempting to shift his thoughts as well.

So much had happened in so short a time. He found himself with a crew again, a _living_ crew, and it brought out long suppressed instincts. Picard, within five minutes of being on his ship, had accused him of being _Starfleet_ , through and through. It was irritatingly arrogant despite its accuracy, something only another Starfleet officer would commandeer as belonging specifically to that identity. Who was the old man to say that just because a captain ran a tight, organized, and well-maintained ship, it automatically meant Starfleet? As if graduating from the Academy left some kind of indelible mark?

Oh, Starfleet had marked him alright. The way he maintained his ship was definitively _not_ the evidence of that mark.

His thoughts drifted back to his new crew. _They_ were the ones bringing out the old training, the battered parts of him that had made him an efficient and well-lauded XO. With the holos, he didn’t have to watch his speech. He didn’t have to try and encourage them, he didn’t have to care about _feelings_ and morale, hell, he didn’t have to worry about keeping them alive much less be concerned with what they were thinking or how they were doing. And, perhaps the best part of the deal, if he _did_ start to feel bad about treating them poorly, he could focus on the fact that he was really yelling at himself. Literally. What had initially been a curse in accidentally activating the self-scan option had turned into a twisted, darkly comforting coping mechanism.

But now, with people on board? They didn’t deserve him being an asshole for one thing. He could control that for the most part, as one learned when developing customer services skills. The problem was that he didn’t simply want to _not_ be an asshole. He innately wanted to _care_. As a good senior officer does. And that…that was very, very dangerous.

Because he wasn’t a good senior officer anymore, was he? With a deep sigh, he shifted again, pulling up a display to review sensor readings that he knew were normal, having traveled this corridor of space more times than he could count. It was necessary in order to pull himself away from the potential spiral, which normally would lead to doing something reckless, which he couldn’t do anymore _because he had a crew_ … A dull, phantom ache whispered in his shoulder where a shard of tritanium had once been lodged, both taunting and calling to him. _La Sirena_ was his ship, but his siren was the dark song of pain and guilt.

“Ah, Rios.” He turned at his name, battling warring responses. He wanted to be irritated at the interruption to his existential brooding, and also could not fight a sense of relief for the distraction. As well as a slight embarrassment at the physical urge to stand at attention like a well-trained cadet rather than _captain of his own goddamn ship._

“Admiral,” he replied levelly, desperately hoping Picard had been unable to pick up on any of his thoughts. Supposedly he hadn’t been given any “superpowers” as Agnes put it, but Rios wasn’t in any hurry to brush off the fact that Picard was now a synth - if for no reason other than it allowed him to dwell on something other than the reality that he had watched the man die. Or the reality of the intense emotions that came with his return. “What can I do for you?”

Picard proceeded forward, taking a seat at OPS and turning to face the captain. “Nothing in particular. I was just having a bit of trouble getting to sleep, thought I would join the night watch as it were.” His eyes drifted to the book on Rios’ lap. “What is tonight’s reading?”

Taking note of the page before closing the book, Rios tossed the small volume to Picard. As the admiral righted the book to read the title, Rios chuckled at his reaction. “Quite the skill that you somehow manage to look both impressed and concerned in the same second, Picard.”

“I must say I’m not terribly surprised given the library you maintain,” came the rebuttal, albeit with an air of sheepishness, “but I had thought things had been going well enough to pull you from such nihilistic ponderings.” Picard placed the book on the console before turning again to face Rios, making himself comfortable in his seat. “Do I have reason to be concerned, Captain Rios?”

Rios didn’t respond, allowing his gaze to drift slightly from Picard and go unfocused. He wanted to tell Picard to piss off. He wanted to open up to him. He wanted in so many opposite directions, the only thing he could think to do was retreat back into some dark corner of his mind and ignore the situation. And that was only because activating the holos to manage the ship so that he could drown himself in a bottle of pisco would draw _more_ attention, if his last attempt at that route was any indication. Particularly with Raffi, and now Agnes, on board. He had let them get close, and the others weren’t far behind if he was honest. So he had to ask himself _why the hell was he letting it happen…_

“When you were in command of the Stargazer,” he eventually spoke, voice hoarse suddenly, “did you ever worry about failing your crew?”

It was Picard’s turn for reflective silence. Rios would be lying if he said he hadn’t almost hoped that the sudden, very personal question would chase Picard off. It would also be a lie to say he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I believe only a fool, who has no business being in command, could honestly say such a thought never crosses his mind,” came the response. “Equally so, a wise commander cannot allow himself to be controlled by such fear.”

“And when that fear comes to pass?”

Picard’s brow furrowed, a quizzical look in his eyes. They appeared to stare each other down briefly, Rios simultaneously hiding and hoping to be read. After a time, those age old, brand new synthetic eyes gleamed slightly.

“I’ll have you know I enjoyed more than enough rounds of poker on the Enterprise to be able to uncover even the most subtle of tells, Captain Rios,” Picard teased gently. “What’s really on your mind?”

Rios felt his chest tighten, approaching the edge of a moment of truth. There were admissions on the tip of his tongue, along with the fear and memories of where such admissions can lead. Starfleet had made it clear: there is little value in a broken officer.

But the _weight_ of it, the knowledge and the constant mental back and forth, it was exhausting. When the scales had rested solely on the side of pessimism and resignation to misery, it was manageable. Burdens seem to weigh far less when you simply allow them to pin you down. Yet here he was trying to stand, and the effort may be enough to undo him.

Just as it had Pops.

“I don’t want to go out the way Vandermeer did,” he finally admitted out loud, mentally and physically feeling as if in freefall. “That…that _epic_ feeling of failure, where it led him…where it left me…”

Suddenly he stood, beginning to pace as the chain reaction of emotions became too much. The dam had been released, leaving him frantically trying to tread water amidst memories, thoughts, arguments, the nightmare that had been the essential end of the _Ibn Majid_. This was different from simply telling Raffi the story, which had been hard enough. That had been a field dressing; that was exploratory surgery. Without anesthetic.

“I broke him, Picard,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I pushed him, and challenged him, and maybe if I had tried to fucking support him instead of grilling him, I wouldn’t still be seeing pieces of him painting the bulkheads in my dreams! And now…now I have…” he gestured toward the rest of the ship, swinging his arms out wildly. He shook his head, almost violently. When he turned back around to face the strikingly unshaken admiral, Rios jabbed one finger into his own chest, still gesturing behind him with the other hand. “ _This_ should not be responsible for _that._ ”

“And yet you want to be,” Picard responded evenly. “You want to be, otherwise this would not be tearing you up as viciously as it is.”

Rios stood, staring at him. Loosely, he noted he was panting, even physically felt as if he’d undergone some great exertion. An exertion that was continuing as the swirl of dark thoughts continued, reminding him of those first hours, days, weeks after Vandermeer’s… It had taken some time for the full shock to really sink in, as he’d had to keep up appearances for the sake of the crew. _The crew, the goddamn crew_ _that he let down_. Because ultimately it had been his fault, right? He could’ve stopped it, he could’ve just kept his mouth shut, he didn’t have to _destroy all of them_ with his fear and his training and _dammit, Pops, why?_ he screamed in his head, not for the first time and likely never the last.

“The crew was _shattered_ when the found out, Picard,” he croaked, continuing to pace. “No one could understand why he had done that, what the hell was wrong, why he would’ve blown his goddamn brains out for no _fucking_ reason at all. _But I knew!_ ” he nearly yelled, jabbing a closed fist painfully, forcefully into his chest with each syllable. “I knew and I didn’t fucking tell them so I could save all their lives, and I still destroyed them! I throw the rulebook at him and he offed himself, I play by the rulebook and I break every single damn person on that ship that _trusted us_.”

Burning tears were making their way down his face now. He found himself unexpectedly indifferent to them, less affected by making such a display in front of the retired admiral than he would’ve thought possible. Maybe he was still hiding from himself, in a way, not actually feeling everything the shell of a person seemed to be talking so passionately about. He wasn’t certain, but also felt no compulsion to try and stop the show. _Strange sensation_ , he thought to no one in particular, _being a passenger in your own brain._

“When it all hit, when I really understood what I had done…when they diagnosed the posttraumatic dysphoria…it was just easier to ride solo.” Picard gave him a slightly raised brow in response, looking casually past Rios before returning the gaze to him. Rios rolled his eyes, waving him off. “Raff was different. She was so deep in her own misery and self-loathing that we came together more out of familiarity than anything. Yeah, it grew tight, we would have each other’s backs through anything…and we never crossed that line of talking about _why_ we hated ourselves. Not until…” he trailed off, remembering that broken look in her eyes before she passed out, just having told him about her pissed off son that he never knew existed. That might have been the first moment he knew he was in trouble, the moment he realized he was starting to _care_ and _connect_ again.

He shook his head before finally plopping down angrily in his seat, vigorously rubbing his face in his hands. “When it all hit, I wanted to go with him, Picard,” he admitted bleakly. “I wanted to go, and I didn’t out of spite, and I didn’t out of feeling that I didn’t _deserve_ the way out, that it only made sense that I deal with the consequences of my failure. And more than once over the past several years, I’ve thought about it again and again, until finally I just stopped feeling anything.”

“And now that you have allowed yourself to feel again, you find yourself face to face with everything you had been running from to begin with.” Rios looked up, gazing into understanding written on the face of a suddenly very tired looking old man. He nodded solemnly.

“These guys deserve better than me, Picard. If I…if I fuck them up the way I did before…” Rios physically began to curl in on himself, actually shivering. He couldn’t decide if it was at the thought of eating his phaser or of letting this crew, _his_ crew, down again.

“Not to be insensitive, but since we are being open, I think it’s safe to say that all of us on this ship are already quite fucked up, as you put it.” Rios coughed out a laugh that was louder than he expected, if not because of the veracity of the sentiment, then because of the experience of hearing so proper and esteemed an individual casually swear so crudely. When he looked up, the admiral looked as unflappable as ever despite the intensity of the conversation being had, clearly reflecting very seriously on the matter at hand. It was enough to shake Rios from his own thoughts, that much was certain.

“But that being said,” Picard continued, “I can understand how the immense weight of failures past can drive one’s mind into such desperate territory. Much as I can understand that there truly are no words that fully combat the dark pull of those thoughts. But as I said before, despite all your concerns, there is very obviously a part of you that _wants_ to allow all of us in. To form connections, to perhaps even revisit the positive memories you created on the _Ibn Majid,_ hm?” Rios broke eye contact, looking down and away, confirming Picard’s assertion. “I understand the shame, the fear that you don’t deserve even that much. And while I can’t convince you otherwise, I can assure you that it is there regardless, whether you deserve it or not. If you truly wish to respect and serve these people in your care now…then the bravest, most generous thing you can do is accept that which they are offering.”

“That simple, eh?” the tired captain responded, unable to keep the cynicism from his voice. Hearing a chuckle, he looked back up at Picard to find an equally cynical smirk greeting him.

“Contrary to popular belief, simple does not inherently mean easy.” Rios gave a titled nod of his head, conceding the point. “Your experience, grim and unfair as it may have been, does not doom you to the same end. If anything, it more broadly opens the paths before you, gives your power to choose far more weight than those who haven’t experienced the same.”

Rios felt the tightness in his chest start to loosen, as well as a slight confusion take seat in his mind. “Picard, I can’t tell if you’re trying to cheer me up, or giving me permission to feel like shit.” Picard laughed.

“Isn’t being given permission to feel how you feel, without judgment or shame, more freeing than any attempt to change how you feel?”

Rios blinked. He blinked again. Picard’s very slight, assured smirk remained. “You really have been there before.” As Picard sighed, the remaining tension in Rios’ chest lifted.

“Believe me, captain, I have served with many an officer, as well as have tread the oceanic waters of despair, more frequently over the past several years than I care to admit.” Picard stood as Rios’ brow raised at the admission. Tugging at the bottom of his shirt to straighten a uniform he no longer wore, he reached over to retrieve the book from the console as he continued. “In light of both those facts, I can confidently say that you are a good man, Rios, and a good captain.”

Approaching the somewhat stunned captain, Picard offered the book back to its owner. When it was taken, Picard’s hand shifted to Rios’ shoulder giving it a firm squeeze. “You are a good man, Rios,” he repeated, “and we are fortunate to be in your company and your care.”

A few last tears escaped his eyes at the words and the departure of pressure from his shoulder, a soothing calm compared to the fiery catharsis from earlier. He looked down at his book, feeling perhaps for the first time in several years that he did, in fact, have the courage to be present and exist in this universe that had brutalized him so terribly. And even if he didn’t…

“If you ever need to chat,” Picard called as he continued to walk toward his quarters. Rios smirked.

“Will do, old man.” There was single scoff laugh in response.

“Old man indeed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered keeping this as an ongoing work, so that I could play with all the pairings in all the different ways. But since I’ve started “All I Want Is This,” it doesn’t seem quite right. So Rios’ chapter will close out this work. After all, there are plenty of other adventures waiting to be had, especially since we’re not even halfway through Elnor’s story in “In Giving of Ourselves.” :)
> 
> If you did read this and now feel like you need more of a pick me up, please feel free to head over to “All I Want Is This,” as I purposely posted the second chapter of that simultaneously to allow some fluffy literary self-care after a story like this. :)


End file.
